Diagnosis (English Translation)

6

Co-translator : pledis_uwus

Chapter 6: My Name is Thana

My name is Thana and I was diagnosed with schizophrenia. This is an illness that robbed me of my own feelings, my own identity… it stole my soul. It took a long time to escape from that hell.

I began to experience loud ringing sounds in my ears about nine months ago. At that time, I was beginning a job as a graphic designer at a company.

At first, I worked without any problems, but when the ringing sounds grew louder it made me unable to concentrate on work.

The quality of my work deteriorated. The sounds bothered me so much that I got up from my desk one day and yelled at my coworker because I heard him scold me in his mind. I could hear what he was thinking about me.

I was hearing these voices inside my head for a long time until a friend of mine took me to the psych department. Now, I realize that those voices were my own brain telling me things, not somebody else’s thoughts.

I was in the psychiatric department for about a month and a half. In that time, I received higher doses of an antipsychotic drug until I wasn’t able to do anything at all. I could only sit down and be still. I couldn’t move or even speak because it was so difficult.

During the periods of time when I was experiencing the side effects of the heavy drugs, I was always thinking “Where did the doctor go?”

The first day that I was admitted, a male medical student came in and asked for an interview. His name was Doctor Thitipat. He was a fifth year medical student with a tall, slim figure and black plastic-framed glasses.

He came in to talk to me when I could still hear voices and thought I had magic powers. I confessed to him that he should be afraid of my power, yet he still came back to talk to me. On the second and third day, he asked me with curiosity about the symptoms that I have experienced, the history of my family, my childhood, and my personality. I have never been asked so many questions by anyone, except for the psychiatrist who treated me before.

As I was telling him my story, he carefully wrote the details on a piece of paper until it was filled. He asked about everything like what I had eaten that day, what activities I would do later, etc. Finally, he would conclude the session by thanking me and leaving the ward.

Those three days that I spent talking with him made me feel more appreciated than I’ve ever felt since I was born. The time I spent with the doctor felt so precious to me. I look forward to these days happening again to give meaning to this worthless life of mine.

Because these moments were so meaningful to me, I told him that if I left the hospital, I would look for him so we could talk more. For some reason, he seemed scared and quickly left the ward when I said this.

On the fourth day, I was waiting for him to see me again. I even prepared better answers than my other ones and planned to tell him everything about me in as much detail as I possibly could.

I kept waiting for him. The fifth day passed, then the sixth day. The days turned to weeks, and eventually a month had passed. I never saw him again.

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After leaving the hospital, I had to follow up with the psychiatric department as an outpatient to get my prescribed antipsychotic drug. I also was getting my nasal allergy treated in the ENT (ear, nose, throat)  department which is located in a different building.

Five months had passed when I got on the elevator to go to the ENT department. This time was different.  The elevator stopped and the doors opened. When they opened, I was looking at my phone, but then I looked up. I looked up and saw him standing in front of the elevator… that medical student.